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by will_o_whisper



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Family, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-23
Updated: 2010-06-23
Packaged: 2017-10-10 06:10:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/will_o_whisper/pseuds/will_o_whisper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two cousins have a conversation, though, it's the things they don't need to say that mean the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Written for Challenge #10 (Exile) at dao_challenge, back in May.
> 
> Constructive criticism in welcomed and appreciated.

The babe looked just like her father, but for her little round ears—not at all what Ida had expected.  As Ida leaned over the bassinette, watching tiny ginger eyelashes flutter in dream, she thought, maybe, this was better.  When she reached down to brush aside a stray wisp of hair, the babe whimpered and stirred, but did not awake.

Soris, who stood beside Ida, pressed a hand to her shoulder and whispered, “We should let her be, cousin.  This is the first she’s slept properly in days.”

Ida only nodded, and hesitated over one last look at the pitiful human child before taking Soris’s arm in hers and allowing herself to be led from the bedroom.

They prepared dinner alongside staggered conversation.  The kitchen was too small, like the rest of the house.  But as they shuffled about with jutting elbows and tangled feet, Soris turned to Ida and admitted with a sad smile that he and his wife were happy in their new home.  It was nice, having a place to call their own.  Ida shrugged.

They worked in silence after that, the only sounds being the thunk of knives on chopping boards and the steady crackling of the wood stove.  The air grew thick with the warm smells of baking bread and chicken and potato stew, familiar smells, that clenched in Ida’s chest.

While Soris watched the stove, she pulled two wooden cups and a half-empty bottle of brandy from the cupboard, and poured one cup for herself, another for Soris, before taking a seat at the table in the middle of the room.  She grimaced as she sipped her drink; she’d forgotten how foul cheap spirits could taste.  Next time she would bring a proper brew.  A bottle of imported Orlesian wine, perhaps.

Ida set her cup down.  “That smells delicious.”  A playful smirk slithered across her lips.  “Life outside the Alienage has taught you to cook, at least.”

“It’s taught me a lot of things.  You should know.” Soris gave the stew a final stir before settling into the seat across from Ida.

“Not that, I still burn water.  I let Leliana worry about the cooking.”

Soris laughed.  “Why am I not surprised.  Maybe it is best you never got married—you are a terrible wife.”

Ida’s smirk spread to her eyes, “Well I suppose you’re good enough of one for both of us.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?  You’re getting shabby, cousin.”

With a snort, Ida reached across the table to swat Soris.  He laughed again and ducked away, nearly tipping his chair and spilling the brandy as he did so.  A strangled yelp leaped from his throat; he caught the edged of the table, and teetered precariously on two of the chair’s legs before righting himself with a thunk.

Ida snickered through the whole affair.  When Soris glowered at her, her snickers turned to cackles.  Chest still shaking with mirth, Ida leaned forward and patted her cousin on the arm.  “You’re helpless.” She smiled.  Then, slowly, her smile faded.  She placed a hand on Soris’s forearm, seeking his strength as much as she tried to offer hers.  She looked him in the eye when she spoke.  “They miss you, you know.  They send their regards.”

The ghost of a wistful smile settled over Soris’s expression.  He wanted to believe the lie, Ida knew.  She wanted to believe it, too.

“You still see them?” he asked.

“When I can.”

“I’m glad.  So, do they know about…”

“Yes.”  Ida’s own ghost drifted over her face.  “We don’t talk about her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

They fell into a silence neither comfortable nor unpleasant.  Soris removed his arm from Ida’s grip and took her hand, just to hold it.  They sat that way for some moments that felt like days.

Elsewhere in the house, the babe began to cry.

With the silent bubble broken, Soris groaned and stood up, squeezing Ida’s hand once before letting go.  “It was too much to hope she would just sleep.” He sighed.  “She’s just like her namesake that way.  Always needs to be the center of attention.”

Ida tossed Soris a teasing frown as she leaned back in her chair.  “I’m still very embarrassed by that, I’ll have you know.”

“Why?” Soris paused at the doorway and turned around.  He crossed his arms over his chest and looked away as he spoke.  “It’s just, well, things are going to be…they won’t be easy for her.  I thought, maybe, it—now don’t laugh—I thought it might make her proud to know she was named after a hero.”

“Don’t be stupid!  And _don’t call me that_.” The anger in her own voice shocked Ida, enough even that she felt a swell of guilt at the hurt on Soris’s face.  Yet it didn’t slow her as she stormed from her seat to tower before her cousin.  She grabbed his shoulders; he met her eyes, and there Ida’s strength gave out.  Her own shoulders slumped, though she did not let go of Soris’s.  Lips pressed tight, she searched his eyes for understanding she already knew was there.

He pulled her into a hug, even as she began to tug him into her own.  Soris pressed his cheek against her shoulder.  “You’ve always been my hero, cousin,” he whispered.

Ida didn’t cry, she hadn’t in years, but she felt her lip tremble all the same.  She squeezed Soris harder; if it hurt, he kept it to himself.  “She’ll be proud to call you her father, you know.”

The babe screamed.  Reluctantly, Soris stepped back, though he kept hold of Ida’s upper arms.  Ida felt she could stay there, comforted and loved, forever.  But then the babe let loose another furious shriek, and Ida unwillingly detached herself.  “Go take care of her,” she said, and tapped Soris on the nose.

He left with a nod, leaving Ida to tend to the stove.  As she leaned over the pot, stirring occasionally, listening to the muffled coos of Soris trying to coax his daughter back to sleep, a familiar ache rose again in her chest.  It hurt, but not quite so much as before.  She inhaled deeply, allowing the homey smell of the stew wash over her.  This was a home as well as any.  Soris had made it one, and, Ida realized, she would have a home of her own with him.  The thought comforted her.  She hadn’t had a proper home since being forced from the Alienage.

Next time she came to visit, Ida decided, she would bring Leliana.  Tonight, though, she hoped her cousin’s wife would be home in time for dinner.

She had a sudden urge for a family meal.


End file.
